a/n: thoughts begin with elipses... Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them. I always thought this was a big chunk missing from Angels and Demons. The style may not be Dan Brown, it's mine, but it's what I imagine happened, and where the attraction blossomed. Please review!

The Road Beyond St. Peter’s -- Vittoria

A pyre of mystical fire . . . an angel materializing from out of the crowd . . . her soft hand taking his and leading him into the night . . . guiding his exhausted, battered body through the streets . . . leading him here . . . to this suite . . . propping him half-sleeping in a scalding hot shower . . . leading him to this bed . . . and watching over him as he fell asleep like the dead. – From Angels and Demons, by Dan Brown


Vittoria Vetra stared. It was all she could possibly do. She didn’t have the energy to scream, she didn’t care enough anymore to be horrified at the vision before her. There was no saving the Camerlengo – spiritually or physically. He had murdered Vittoria’s father, slaughtered the Preferitti, ensured the death of Max Kohler, betrayed his own faithful Swiss Guard, and had used the very technology in which her father proved the existence of God, to threaten to destroy His Holy City.

There was no stopping the pyre of flame enveloping and engulfing the body of Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca. There was no sound, no screaming, no pain, no horrifying shrieks of agony. All Vittoria could do was watch as the fiery figure slumped behind the balustrade, the intense light fading, and heavy clouds of gray smoke becoming the only visible remnants of the conflagration. An acrid, horrific scent slowly permeated the air around St. Peter’s Basilica, and moved assuredly through St. Peter’s Square – the unmistakable odor of burning flesh. Vittoria watched as the members of the stunned crowd now covered their mouths and noses with handkerchiefs, jackets, or coat sleeves to try and filter out the deathly stench.

Carlo Ventresca had committed many, many sacrileges that night – the worst of all was the ultimate act of cowardice – taking his own life in a pillar of holy fire.

I can’t stand this anymore. I need to get out of here, she thought.

Pulling her eyes away from the balcony and the crowd, Vittoria glanced up at the tall, eruditely handsome man standing next to her. Robert Langdon was a mess. His hair was still wet and matted down with water, muck and mire from God knew where. He had still not told her what happened – how he survived the anti-matter annihilation, and even how he survived the fall – or jump – from the helicopter. He had still not explained why he was wearing a dark blue ambulance driver’s jumpsuit instead of his Harris tweed, turtleneck, and khaki pants. He had still not explained why he was bandaged, bruised, and walked with a rather pronounced limp. But all that could wait. It would have to wait.

Vittoria saw in Robert’s still skyward eyes, and in the slack expression on his face, that he was completely drained, utterly exhausted, and like her, too jaded to care about the Camerlengo’s fate. She read in his face that all Robert cared about was that it – the entire surreal fiasco – was over. The Vatican was safe, the rest of the Cardinals could now elect a Pope, and Vittoria was by his side – herself untouched and, at least physically, unscathed.

Vittoria took hold of Robert’s hand. It was clammy, limp, and cold -- much unlike the strong, firm, warm hand she held earlier when they were forced to pose as a married couple. “Robert, are you okay?”

Robert continued to stare upward, toward the balcony. Unlike the rest of the crowd, he didn’t seem to care about the smell of burning flesh now dominating the air. His otherwise kind eyes were now vacant, expressionless, without feeling. He did not respond.

“Robert,” Vittoria tugged on his hand, the slight pressure leading him in a westerly direction out of the polluted square, toward Rome, and out of the Vatican, “let’s go. We need to leave, now.”

Robert didn’t argue, he didn’t balk. He gladly turned away from the ghastly sight before him, and followed Vittoria’s guidance like a child follows his mother. Obviously, he had no idea where she was leading him, where they were going, or how they were going to get there. Vittoria knew that she had to get Robert cleaned up, get him some food, and more importantly, some rest.


As they made their way into the piazza containing the Bernini Hotel, Vittoria heard the otherwise silent Robert mumble incoherently.

“What was that? What did you say?”

“Diagramma.” Robert’s voice was hoarse, and slightly squeaky.

“What about Diagramma, Robert?”

“Got wet. Gone. I ruined it. Last copy, gone. Dissolved.”

“That’s the least of our worries, now isn’t it?” Vittoria could sense the guilt, hurt, and pain swimming in Robert’s mind. He had been so careful in the archives, turning each page with the proper tools, wearing the proper archival gloves. Vittoria knew that the loss of the world’s very last copy of Galileo’s Diagramma – and that it was Robert’s fault – weighed heavily on him.


“What do we do about the tape?” Robert slurred, “About Ventresca’s confession?”

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Robert,” Vittoria chided as she led Robert into the grand front doors of the Hotel. “We can…”

Robert suddenly regained some energy. “No, now.” He stopped abruptly just inside the expansive lobby and pulled Vittoria back toward him with a modicum of strength. “What do we do?”


“What do you want to do, Robert?” She eyed him with a hint of impatience. “I think Cardinal Mortati made it clear that he wanted to be the one to break the news to the world about Ventresca’s…Ventresca’s…ooh, I can’t even say it, but I don’t think it’s our -- yours or my -- place to go blabbing to the press about…to ruin the feeling...”

Robert smiled weakly, his eyes still droopy and heavy. “I hoped that was what you’d say.”

Without another word, Robert enveloped his hand in Vittoria’s again, and let her lead him to the front desk. She leaned over the counter. “Ciao, è chiunque qui? Hello?”

A prim looking man in a smart-looking pinstriped suit sauntered slowly from behind a partition wall. “Posso aiutarlo,” he said with an obviously spurious and snobby drawl. “Do you require a room for…dio mio!” He looked up at Robert, over at Vittoria, and then back at Robert. “Dio mio, Signore! You are the…you are the man from the television…in the elicottero…Il Camerlengo…”

Vittoria watched with trepidation as Robert sighed, blowing a breath deliberately through his pursed lips, and sank his head into his chest. Robert lifted his face, licked his lips and smiled weakly. “Yes, signore, I am, and I’m exhausted. I need a shower. I need a bed, and I need those things right now, please, so the sooner you can give Ms. Vetra here a key to a huge, luxurious suite, the sooner I’ll be a happy man.”

The man behind the counter contemplated for a moment. “Si, signore,” he said, smiling genuinely this time. “I have just the room for you two.” He swiped a card through a reader, placed it in an envelope, and pushed it across the counter toward Vittoria. “Room 443, Signorina Vetra, Signore Langdon.”

Vittoria rummaged through her pockets, trying desperately to remember which zippered compartment contained her credit cards. She pulled out a silver and blue Visa card with the CERN logo imprinted on it, and pushed it in the opposite direction toward the counterman. “Here, put everything on this card. Just take it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.”

The counterman smiled again, placed two fingers on the credit card and slid it back toward Vittoria. “Your card is no good here, Signorina Vetra.”

“Excuse me?” She blinked impatiently, her chin jutting forward with increasing annoyance. “That card is perfectly good! It has a limit of over…”

He tilted his head and his eyes twinkled. “I do not question your credit limit, Signorina Vetra, and I do not question the validity of your credit card.”

Vittoria let out a breath and rolled her eyes. “Then what, pray tell, is the problem?”

The man raised his hands in a gesture of submission. “There is no problem. None whatsoever. The room, and dinner this evening, Signorina Vetra, are gratis,” he looked at Robert, “on the house, as you Americans say. Whatever you wish, we will provide. Now, the elevator is behind this counter to the left. Take it to the fourth floor, and turn right. Your room is on the left side. Enjoy your stay, and sleep well.”

Vittoria smiled, thankful tears welling up in her eyes. “Grazie, signore. Grazie.” She took Robert’s hand, and turned toward the elevators. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Si, signorina?”

Vittoria again handed the counterman her credit card. “You have a concierge, correct?”

“Si.”

“Please ask him to purchase some clothing - including undergarments -- and some sundries for myself and Mr. Langdon. I can’t quite wear these shorts and tank anymore, and Mr. Langdon certainly cannot travel back to the States wearing a medical jumpsuit. I wear an American size four, and Mr. Langdon looks to be your size exactly.”

“Sara un paciere, signorina. I will personally ensure it is done. They will be delivered to your room later this evening – after you two have had time to rest.” He picked up the card and placed it into a small file folder under the desk. “Should you need anything else, just call. My name is Ettore, and I am the hotel manager.”

Moments later, Vittoria was ushering a now half-sleeping Robert Langdon out of the elevator, partially supporting his weight on her shoulders as they scuffled down the hallway. She worked the key in the lock and the door swung open on the first try. Vittoria was immediately stunned and amazed at the beauty, luxury and elegance of the suite laid out before her – but, appreciation of the décor would have to wait.

Vittoria, with Robert still half-slumped on her shoulder, made a sharp right turn and immediately found the bathroom. “Okay, Langdon, get your bulky body off me.” She pulled his arm from around her neck, and lowered him gently onto the closed toilet seat. “Time for a clean-up, you smell like…like I don’t know, but it’s horrible.”

“Silt… from the Tiber,” Robert garbled.

Vittoria stood over him, stunned. “You fell in the river?”

Robert’s eyes were flickering open and closed, and his head was bobbing ominously. “Uh-huh.”

“How did you get out?”

“Fell…by…a hospital…they pulled…me out.”

...Dio mio, she thought. Dio mio, I can’t believe he survived that...

“You are one lucky bastard, you know that?”

“Tell…me…’bout…it.” He curled the right side of his mouth in an exhausted grin, and chuckled slightly. “Don’t…feel…lucky.”

“You don’t smell lucky, either, let’s get you in the shower.” Vittoria pulled the textured glass door aside, reached in, and turned on the tap, pushing the lever all the way toward the “caldo” side. Within seconds, steam began filling the bathroom, fogging up the mirrors, and making the marble countertops and terrazo floors rather slippery. “Do you have anything on under that jumpsuit?”

“No.”

...Okay, Vittoria thought. No problem. Just get it done, get out, get him to bed. Don’t look. All business -- nothing sexual...yeah, right...

“Can you stand up?” Robert pushed off from the now slick seat and stood, wobbling slightly. Vittoria undid the button at the collar of the jumpsuit, grasped the large pull and began undoing the zipper, moving it down to where it stopped just below Robert’s mid-section. Despite her self-imposed clinical attitude, Vittoria couldn’t help but notice – and appreciate -- the defined, and rather clean, chest muscles, the slack, yet still sexy abdominals, and the tiny tufts of black hair covering the top and bottom of Robert’s exposed navel.

Robert’s eyes kept flickering, and he took large breaths in through his nose, letting them out in extended, near constant yawns and groans.

Vittoria's mind wandered. ...In this state, he wouldn’t even notice if I just…grabbed him down there…Vittoria, stop it now!

She pushed the jumpsuit from Robert’s broad shoulders and turned him around so that he faced away from her. She could hear a faint laugh and saw Robert’s latissimus dorsi muscles – his swimming muscles -- quiver slightly.

“You…shy?”

“No, just respectful,” she laughed a bit herself, and continued to remove the garment, pulling it down off of his somewhat sculpted, but not perfect, arms, letting the top of it dangle from his thin waist. “You want to do the rest?”

He took another breath in through his nose. “Yes, please.” Vittoria turned around, and heard the scratchy sounds of stiff cotton being peeled away from dry skin, and heard the thump-thump of Robert’s size eleven feet lifting and resetting down on wet terrazo. She then heard Robert pad into the shower and groan ecstatically under the intense heat of the streaming water. She turned around and noticed that Robert had not closed the shower door. He stood there, wavering back and forth under the steaming cascade. Vittoria feared for a moment that he would fall. She pulled off her boots, and socks, stepped fully-clothed, into the marble bathtub behind Robert, and held her hands up against his back for support. The mere feel of his lithe, hot skin under her hands sent a shudder of… God knows what feeling… throughout her entire body.

...Stay professional, Vittoria. Keep your mind off of it, Vittoria. Keep your mind off of it. Keep your mind off of…him....

But she couldn’t.

Even from behind, even battered, bruised, and unbelievably fatigued, Robert Langdon’s wet body was…well, quite desirable, even for a man ten years her senior. It took everything Vittoria had to keep her brain on the task of getting him cleaned up, getting the matted muck out of his hair, and getting him to bed. Langdon obviously needed all the help he could get right now, and she was it. Vittoria inhaled, pumped some shampoo into her hand from the wall dispenser, reached up, and began massaging it through Robert’s thick, dark, tresses.

Giving in completely to Vittoria’s touch, Robert slumped and sat down on the floor of the shower, ducking his head forward, his chin dipping into his chest. Vittoria knelt behind him, the hot water now hitting her in the neck and chest. She gingerly pulled his head back toward her, and moved her fingers deftly over the follicles, stopping now and then to scrub at a particularly difficult patch of mud. After two rounds of shampooing, and careful rinsing, Vittoria was satisfied.

“There,” she said, standing up, turning off the shower, and squeezing the excess water from her hair, “finished. Clean as a whistle.”

“Do you have to stop?” Robert said in a hoarse voice. Despite the water being turned off, and the chill now permeating the air, Robert remained sitting on the bathtub floor, still facing away from Vittoria.

Vittoria laughed, pulled a towel from the rack, wrapped her hair in a makeshift turban, and stepped out of the bathtub. “The mud’s all gone -- down the drain.”

“Yeah,” Robert groaned, tilting his wet head to one side, “but do you have to stop?”

“Yes, I do,” Vittoria chided, with a sly tone of voice, knowing full well that any further physical contact might lead to a wholesale lack of sleep, “however, Signore Langdon, we can pick it up later, after at least eight hours’ sleep. Of course, only if you want to.”

“I’d…I’d…like that.”

Moments later, Robert Langdon emerged, shuffling painfully, from the bathroom. His body was loosely swathed in a luxuriously thick Hotel Bernini bathrobe. His black-with-gray hair was sticking up at various and sundry angles, having been tousled dry by Vittoria. Having done so, Vittoria walked out of the bathroom to change out of her own -- now soaking wet -- clothes and into a bathrobe of her own.

Vittoria pulled up the corner of the stark white comforter and bedspread on the left-hand bed, making a wide space on the Egyptian cotton sheets for Robert to lay. Without a word, without cue, and without direction, Robert trod barefoot around Vittoria and plopped unceremoniously onto the edge of the bed. In one fluid motion, Robert sank his head back onto the goose down pillow and kicked his legs up, sprawling prone on the feathery soft mattress.

“You shouldn’t sleep in that,” Vittoria pointed to Robert’s bathrobe, “it’s too thick, the knot will drive you nuts and you’ll get overheated.”

Again, without a word, Robert reached his hands down and tugged at the loosely tied sash. Vittoria, still holding the bedcovers aloft, averted her eyes. When she heard the offending garment slump heavily to the floor, Vittoria took a few steps backward, allowing the airy sheets, blankets and comforter to sail over Robert’s body. Satisfied that he was covered and comfortable, she turned around and sat facing Robert on the edge of the bed opposite – the bed where she decided that she herself would be sleeping.

...It’s too soon, much too soon, to sleep with him, to cuddle up next to him. He’s too exhausted for me to curl my body up against his, to feel my skin beside his, to run my tired hands through his thicket of hair, to…oh, Dio mio, Vittoria…stop thinking about that!

Not having the luxury of a hairbrush, Vittoria pulled her fingers through her long, brown hair, removing as many of the tangles as possible. Through her work on her tresses, she kept her eyes fixed upon Robert Langdon. He was curled up on his side, the blankets tucked up under his hand against his chin, so that only his head poked out of the cocoon of soft cotton and goose feathers. With his eyes closed, Vittoria could now appreciate just how long his eyelashes were. They seemed to reach down to caress his flushed-pink cheeks. His mouth was slack and partially open, the lips slightly chapped but still full of color. After a short time, Vittoria noticed that his breathing became very regular, his face slackened considerably, and subdued rumbling noises emanated from his open mouth.

Finally, after nearly twelve hours of non-stop adrenaline, fear, near-death experiences, terror, loathing, and danger, Robert Langdon was asleep – Robert Langdon was at peace.

...May you have a dreamless, sleep, Robert. Or, if you do, at least, dream of me.

Vittoria pulled off her robe and let it fall to the floor atop Robert’s. She pulled up the covers of her own bed, slid underneath, snuggled down, and tucked herself in. Just like Robert, Vittoria Vetra drifted off to peaceful sleep nearly the moment her head hit the pillow.

...Dream of me, Robert Langdon…

a/n: thoughts begin with elipses... Robert does think a lot, doesn't he? Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them. I always thought this was a big chunk missing from Angels and Demons. The style may not be Dan Brown, it's mine, but it's what I imagine happened, and where the attraction blossomed. Please review!

The Road Beyond St. Peter’s - Robert

A pyre of mystical fire . . . an angel materializing from out of the crowd . . . her soft hand taking his and leading him into the night . . . guiding his exhausted, battered body through the streets . . . leading him here . . . to this suite . . . propping him half-sleeping in a scalding hot shower . . . leading him to this bed . . . and watching over him as he fell asleep like the dead. – From Angels and Demons, Dan Brown

Robert Langdon couldn’t tear his eyes away. The sight was horrific. The Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca, apparently, although it was difficult to tell exactly what happened, had just somehow set himself on fire. Robert had no idea what fuel he used, as the conflagration was obviously incendiary, where he got it, or why he did it. All he knew was that the bright light from the flame was now searing his eyes, the image burning into his mind. For a brief moment, Robert actually wondered if the flames were holy -- from God -- not of this earth. But then, the memories of the entire evening washed over him anew.

...No, not holy. Not holy in the least. How ironic that this completely unholy man was now burning in what the rest of this crowd thought was a pillar of fire from God....

Robert searched the crowd momentarily. He grew slightly disgusted, watching their adulation, tears, and religious fervor over the burning beast before them.

...Let them think it. Let them have it. They know nothing of Carlo Ventresca’s murderous, hateful, vengeful deeds this night. Mortati’s right, let them have their God. Let them think this man is a saint. I don’t care any more...

If it had been earlier that evening, Robert would have dashed inside the Basilica and made some heroic attempt to save the Camerlengo, or to show the world that the holy fire burning now before them was purely false. But his job, his work, however unwanted it was, was now over. He was finished. Robert Langdon failed in part of it, succeeded in another. He knew that the Preferitti, the four Cardinals in line for the Papacy, were all dead. Robert couldn’t escape a feeling of guilt knowing that he could have stopped each and every one of those deaths – but he didn’t. Each time, he was too late, or too incompetent to prevent the Hassassin from carrying out his murderous tasks. He also knew that his success – bringing Ventresca’s treachery to light – would go untold to the Catholic world, and would likely remain a secret forever.

As the illumination from the pillar of fire died out, all that was left to remind Robert of Ventresca’s presence was a trail of gray smoke, whisping in curling waves over St. Peter’s, and the beginnings of a horrible, acrid smell that Robert had experienced only hours before – that of roasting human skin, bone, and muscle. Surprisingly, the odor did not offend Robert in the least.

...Let him burn, let the God damn traitor burn. Ventresca was a sick man, Robert thought, and he deserved much worse than to die at his own hands. Coward...

Robert didn’t know what to feel. In fact, as he surveyed his body and his emotions, he realized that he was completely and utterly numb. His eyes were cast heavenward, toward and beyond the Basilica’s balustrade, and he couldn’t tear them away. He imagined that, if no one had bothered him, he could stand there forever – wondering what could have been, or what he could have done differently. He had not even noticed Vittoria Vetra at his side. He was an island unto himself -- exhausted, weary, worn, and utterly emotionless. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to feel – other than possibly relief – relief that this whole surreal fiasco was finally over, and of course, that Vittoria was whole, healthy, and untouched by the Hassassin.

As the images of the unconscious Vittoria brutally tied to the divan re-entered his mind, he shivered, and blinked fiercely, holding back emotionless tears. At that very moment, he felt a soft hand take his and pull him slightly westward. He didn’t look down yet, wondering in his stupor if, perhaps, an angel had come to rescue him.

...Her hand is so warm. If I look at her, will her light burn me like Ventresca?

Robert Langdon didn’t believe in angels, but in his present state, and recalling the things he saw that night, he would have believed anything. He thought he heard the angel’s voice, heard her ask him with concern if he was okay, but he was too numb to respond. She spoke again, her voice musical and sweet, like a Mozart concerto.

“Robert, let’s go. We need to leave, now.”

With more gentle pressure on his hand, the angel pulled him in a direction away from St. Peter’s Square. Robert didn’t argue.

...What use is there in arguing with an angel?

In fact, Robert was glad for the distraction – something to finally pull him away from the horrific vision now ingrained in his mind – something to bring him back to life, restore feeling to his battered body. He followed the angel willingly, dutifully, knowing well that she was going to lead him to salvation – salvation in the form, hopefully, of a shower, some food, and a soft bed.

Robert had no idea where she was taking him, where they were going, or how long it would take to get there. Images and emotions now overtook the numbness, the bliss. Robert fought it. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to feel, but there it was – all coming back to him. Among all of the deeds of that night, surprisingly, Robert’s first thought was of the…

“Diagramma,” Robert heard himself mumble.

“What was that? What did you say?”

“Diagramma.” The voice Robert heard was not his own baritone. It was hoarse and chalky, the words catching dry in his mouth. The Diagramma. He had destroyed it. The only copy of Galileo’s major work left in the entire world -- in the entire universe -- was now gone – disintegrated into shards of wet tissue. The kicker was, it was completely and utterly Robert Langdon’s doing.

“What about Diagramma, Robert?”

Robert snapped to attention suddenly, Vittoria’s voice bringing him out of his reverie. It was now that Robert was able to look down at the woman beside him and realize, she was not an angel from God, she was Vittoria, an angel unto herself. Despite this, he could not stop thinking of the archival sacrilege he had performed. The guilt weighed heavily on him.

“Got wet. Gone. I ruined it. Last copy, gone. Dissolved.”

“That’s the least of our worries, now isn’t it?”

Robert thought for a moment.

...She’s right. Diagramma is lost forever, I can do nothing about that. But the Cardinals, the Preferitti, the Hassassin, the brands, Ventresca, the Pope…the tape. That damn tape. Carlo Ventresca’s confession.

That, Robert knew, that he could do something about – the question was, what would he do about it? More importantly, what would Vittoria -- who had an obvious vendetta against Ventresca – what would she do about it?

“What do we do about the tape?” Robert slurred, “About Ventresca’s confession?” He had to know if Vittoria still intended somehow to tell the world about Ventresca’s treachery.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Robert,” Vittoria chided as she led Robert through a set of unfamiliar, heavy oak doors. “We can…”

“No, now.” Gaining a modicum of energy, Robert stopped abruptly just inside the lobby and pulled Vittoria back toward him. He had to know. “What do we do?”

“What do you want to do, Robert?” Robert saw a hint of impatience in her eyes – a look he had seen frequently in the twelve hours he had known her. “I think Cardinal Mortati made it clear that he wanted to be the one to break the news to the world about Ventresca’s…Ventresca’s…ooh, I can’t even say it, but I don’t think it’s our -- yours or my -- place to go blabbing to the press about…”

Relieved, Robert pulled his mouth into a weak smile, but he couldn’t force his eyes to mirror it. “I hoped that was what you’d say.”

Robert’s right hand felt empty and cold without Vittoria’s attached to it. He sought it out and clasped her tightly, again letting angel Vittoria lead him. Robert looked around, taking in his surroundings. The building was expansive, and Robert figured that they were in a large lobby in a rather posh Italian hotel. Robert’s tired brain would not allow him to soak up any more information, would not allow him to, as he would normally do, appreciate the architecture or decoration. His brain, the limbic system taking over, merely wanted to know where he was and how close was he to a bed. He let Vittoria lead him to what appeared to be the hotel’s front desk. After ensuring that Robert was solidly slumped against the wood and marble desk, Vittoria let go of his hand, and leaned over the counter.

She spoke something in Italian, and then called out, “Hello?”

A very dapper young man appeared from behind a partition wall, and said something back to Vittoria, again in Italian that Robert did not. He looked around, trying to focus the conversation out. He was drawn back again when the man addressed him directly.

“Dio mio, Signore! You are the…you are the man from the television…in the elicottero…Il Camerlengo…”

...Elicottero…helicopter? Great, just great. Just what I want out of this whole thing -- notoriety. I don’t want fame, I just want to get this crap out of my hair, get out of this damnable itchy jumpsuit, and get into a bed...

Robert sighed, blowing a breath deliberately through his pursed lips, and sank his head into his chest. Robert lifted his face, licked his lips and smiled weakly. “Yes, signore, I am, and I’m exhausted. I need a shower. I need a bed, and I need those things right now, please, so the sooner you can give Ms. Vetra here a key to a huge, luxurious suite, the sooner I’ll be a happy man.”

The man behind the counter contemplated for a moment. “Si, signore,” he said, smiling genuinely this time. “I have just the room for you two.” He swiped a card through a reader, placed it in an envelope, and pushed it across the counter toward Vittoria. “Room 443, Signorina Vetra, Signore Langdon.”

Robert watched as Vittoria rummaged through her pockets, trying desperately to remember which zippered compartment contained her credit cards. She pulled out a silver and blue Visa card with the CERN logo imprinted on it, and pushed it in the opposite direction toward the attendant. “Here, put everything on this card. Just take it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.”

The attendant smiled again, placed two fingers on the credit card and slid it back toward Vittoria. “Your card is no good here, Signorina Vetra.”

“Excuse me?” She blinked impatiently, her chin jutting forward with increasing annoyance. Robert again recognized this attitude, and it wasn’t good. Vittoria would explode at any moment. “That card is perfectly good! It has a limit of over…”

He tilted his head and his eyes twinkled. “I do not question your credit limit, Signorina Vetra, and I do not question the validity of your credit card.”

Vittoria let out a breath and rolled her eyes. ...Here it comes… “Then what, pray tell, is the problem?”

The man raised his hands in a gesture of submission. “There is no problem. None whatsoever. The room, and dinner this evening, Signorina Vetra, are gratis,” he looked at Robert, “on the house, as you Americans say. Whatever you wish, we will provide. Now, the elevator is behind this counter to the left. Take it to the fourth floor, and turn right. Your room is on the left side. Enjoy your stay, and sleep well.”

Robert was flabbergasted. The room, from the looks of the lobby, was probably a $700 a night job. Before he could say anything, Vittoria cut in. “Grazie, signore. Grazie.”

Robert felt Vittoria’s hand fill his once again, and she pulled him toward the elevators. She suddenly stopped and Robert nearly ran into her. She addressed the attendant again, handing him her credit card. “Oh, one more thing.”


“Si, signorina?”

“You have a concierge, correct?”

“Si.”

“Please ask him to purchase some clothing and sundries for myself and Mr. Langdon. I can’t quite wear these shorts and tank anymore, and Mr. Langdon certainly cannot travel back to the States wearing a medical jumpsuit. I wear an American size four, and Mr. Langdon looks to be your size exactly.”

...Brilliant, brilliant woman, that Vittoria Vetra. Brilliant...

“Sara un paciere, Signorina. I will personally ensure it is done. They will be delivered to your room later this evening – after you two have had time to rest.” He picked up the card and placed it into a small file folder under the desk. “Should you need anything else, just call. My name is Ettore, and I am the hotel manager.”

Robert Langdon generally hated elevators, especially the smaller, European ones, where he could feel every bump, every movement as the carriage was pulled up the shaft. This time, the ride didn’t phase him. He was too sleepy to care.

...I should be this tired more often. It may cure me of my claustrophobia...

Moments later, Robert heard a tinny “ding,” and felt Vittoria wrap herself under his left arm. She supported his failing weight and ushered him out of the elevator, down a thin hallway, and to an ornate, white and gold door. Robert watched as she deftly slid the keycard into the lock, the door opening with a slight “whoosh.” Just as the lobby downstairs, Robert knew, upon seeing the entryway, that if he was in his right mind, he would have had a field day with the luxury and décor of the room. But now, there were more important things to tend to.

Robert followed as Vittoria guided him in a sharp right turn, and sat him unceremoniously onto a closed toilet seat. It was cold, and he could feel the chill through the cotton jumpsuit. “Okay, Langdon, get your bulky body off me. Time for a clean-up, you smell like…like I don’t know, but it’s horrible.”

“Silt… from the Tiber,” Robert garbled. He was growing annoyed at his inability to make his mouth do what his brain wanted.

“You fell in the river?”

Robert felt his eyes involuntarily flicker open and closed, and his head bobbled as he waxed and waned into consciousness. “Uh-huh.”

“How did you get out?”

...How did I get out? He strained with the memory for a moment. ...Island. Hospital. Wet. White coats. Doctors...

“Fell…by…hospital…pulled…me out.”

“You are one lucky bastard, you know that?”

...Lucky? “Tell…me…’bout…it.” He curled the right side of his mouth in an exhausted grin, and chuckled slightly. “Don’t…feel…lucky.”

“You don’t smell lucky, either, let’s get you in the shower.”

Robert heard a distinct “shussh” as Vittoria was apparently opening the shower door. He then heard a squeak and a “whoosh” as she turned on the water. Within seconds, steam began filling the bathroom. Robert breathed it in. The steam itself was soothing, as in a sauna.

“Do you have anything on under that jumpsuit?”

...Do I? “No.”

“Can you stand up?”

...I’d damn well better be able to stand up…

Robert pushed off from the now slick seat and stood, feeling his legs wobble slightly. Before Robert could react, Vittoria’s fingers started working on the button at the collar of his jumpsuit. Robert looked down as she grasped the large pull and began undoing the zipper, moving it down to where it stopped just below Robert’s mid-section.

...My God, she’s stripping me naked, Robert thought, but am I going to stop her? No way...

He felt the scratchy fabric of the jumpsuit as she pushed it off of his shoulders. The chilled air hit his skin, and sent a slight shiver through him. Vittoria twisted his shoulders, turning him around, away from her.

...This one has decency. But do I want decency? Either that, or she’s just… “You…shy?” Robert felt a single chuckle bubble up and escape his slack lips

“No, just respectful,” she laughed. Vittoria continued to remove the garment, pulling it down off of his arms. Despite his fatigue, her touch on his now bared skin sent waves of…Robert didn’t know what…desire, possibly…through his battered body. Something inside him desperately wanted her to continue downward, to keep removing the garment…

“You want to do the rest?” He felt Vittoria back away slightly.

He took a cleansing breath in through his nose. “Yes, please.” He was vaguely aware that Vittoria had turned her back to him, and he clumsily removed the rest of the jumpsuit, nearly slipping on the wet terrazzo floor. Once he was completely bare, the shower looked even more inviting. Without even a word to Vittoria, he grasped onto the edge of the shower door, and stepped into the marble bathtub, groaning as the scalding hot water hit his chest and trickled down his abdomen and legs.

The feeling of the water on his body was intense. Pure heat. He felt each and every one of his tensed muscles giving in to relaxation. He swayed rather drunkenly in the center of the bathtub, and contemplated for a moment leaning against a wall. The shower was so immense, however, that if he did so, he would have sacrificed the cascade of water against his skin.

Thankfully, and like the angel she was, Vittoria entered the shower behind Robert. He didn’t look at her, but heard the sound of her feet hitting the pooled up water, felt her presence behind him, and then felt as she laid her hands gently on his upper back. Now, more than before, her mere touch made him feel incredibly relaxed. She was there. She was there with him. She was there for him. Robert thought for a moment that he could stand in this hot shower with her forever.

After a moment, Robert felt Vittoria reach over his shoulder. She moved her arm rhythmically as she pumped some kind of soap from a wall dispenser into her hand. Next, Robert felt a paroxysm of pleasure as she began working her hands through his mud-encrusted hair. His legs gave way from underneath him, and he, quite involuntarily, sank to the floor of the bathtub. He felt her kneel behind him, her hands still enmeshed in his hair. Robert didn’t know how long she worked on his head, and was barely aware when she used the hand-held shower head to rinse the soapy stuff out. All he knew was that he didn’t want her to stop – didn’t want her to stop touching him. It was if she was washing away all of the fear, all of the hatred, adrenaline, horror, terror, and outrage of that night. The sensation of her fingers on his scalp, mixed with the hot water dripping down his face and neck, was pure bliss, and he never wanted it to end.

But it did end – Vittoria summarily stopped both the massage and the shower. “There. Finished. Clean as a whistle.”

...Oh, come on, now, that’s not fair…not fair at all.

“Do you have to stop?”

Vittoria laughed, and Robert felt a slight chill as she stepped out of the bathtub. “The mud’s all gone -- down the drain.”

“Yeah,” Robert groaned, tilting his wet head to one side, “but do you have to stop?”

...Maybe? Maybe she’ll come back?

“Yes, I do,” Vittoria chided, her tone of voice strangely suggestive, “however, Signore Langdon, we can pick it up later, after at least eight hours’ sleep. Of course, only if you want to.”

...Yes. “I’d…I’d…like that.”

After he exited the shower, he was barely aware of Vittoria scrubbing his hair dry, barely aware of Vittoria leaving the bathroom, barely aware of him toweling off his own body, and slipping into a bathrobe. He pulled at the handle of the bathroom door, and emerged into the bedroom of the suite. His goal, his number one desire at that moment lay before him in a cover of stark white goose down comforters, Egyptian cotton sheets, and fluffy pillows. The thing he most wanted in the world was waiting for him.

No, it was not Vittoria. That would have to come later. It was the bed. The tall, four-poster, queen-sized bed that lay before him. He was desperate for sleep. He smiled as he saw Vittoria pull up the covers for him. He padded around her, sank onto the bed, and pulled his legs up under the covers in one swift move. He felt like he could fall asleep immediately, but there was a slight interruption.

“You shouldn’t sleep in that,” Vittoria pointed to Robert’s bathrobe, “it’s too thick, the knot will drive you nuts and you’ll get overheated.”

...Yeah, whatever she says. Take off the robe, okay...

Without a word, Robert reached his hands down and tugged at the loosely tied sash. He dropped the robe to the floor, satisfied with the “thud” noise it made. He then felt Vittoria lay the covers gently over him and tuck them under his torso. He could feel her wet hair trail over his shoulder. The softness of the sheets against his freshly-cleaned bare skin, combined with Vittoria’s warmth, was comforting – perhaps one of the most comforting things he had felt in a long time.

He wondered, for a moment, if his bed would bounce as Vittoria climbed in next to him. The wonder became a wish. Despite his exhaustion, he, for some reason, craved the feeling of her next to him. He had only known her for twelve hours, yet, he, his body, his very soul, somehow needed her. When the characteristic bounce didn’t come, he opened his eyes slightly, and saw Vittoria perched on the end of the bed opposite his. She was still in her bathrobe, and she was systematically pulling her hands through her hair, trying to loosen a number of tangles. He closed his eyes again, wholly unable to keep them open, wholly unable to stay awake.

...Tomorrow, maybe. After some rest. After…some…

As Robert Langdon allowed his body to succumb to slumber, he felt the unmistakable sensation of a pair of eyes on him. She, Vittoria, was watching over him, watching him fall asleep, ensuring to his safety and comfort – just like a guardian angel does her charge.


He fell into peaceful sleep with the image of the angel in his mind – the image of Vittoria Vetra tending to and caring for him.

...Angel. Vittoria is an angel…My angel...